


The Longest Night

by southsidestyle



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Barebacking, Begging, Blackmail, Choking, Come Marking, Dubious Consent, F/M, Hints of Beronica, Lapdance, Light Bondage, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Squirting, Strip Tease, Table Sex, Uniform Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:00:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22725073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/southsidestyle/pseuds/southsidestyle
Summary: “I’m here to blackmail you,” Bret informs her casually.Veronica instinctively cramps up until she gives it a second of thought and remembers this is only the second time she’s ever talked to this clown. “Withwhat? You have nothing on me.”“Notyou,” he sighs in exasperation. “Can you please keep up? I’m here about your annoying little friends, remember? The blonde with the tight ponytail, more specifically.”This time, Veronica stiffens for real, a sick feeling swirling in her belly. “You have something on Betty?”
Relationships: Veronica Lodge/Bret Weston Wallis
Comments: 8
Kudos: 75





	The Longest Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cherryliqueur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryliqueur/gifts).



> **Cherryliqueur** and I decided to do a little exchange for Valentine's Day and wrote each other something based on very, very loose prompts. We gave each other a girl, a short list of boys/settings and a slightly longer list of kinks to choose from and let each other write whatever we wanted based on those perimeters and this is what I came up with for them. Since blackmail was one of their listed kinks, I also got to fill another square on my Bingo card. So this is also written for the Free Choice + Blackmail square.
> 
> Quick notes: I wasn't sure if Stonewall Prep is actually in Riverdale or not, so for the case of this fic, it isn't. I also couldn't remember which episode Betty found out she was rejected from Yale, so for the sake of this fic, she hasn't found that out yet.

Veronica curses under her breath when she hears the bell over the entrance door chime with a new arrival.

It’s fifteen minutes past closing, but like so many nights before, she had forgotten to turn the sign around to make that known. 

Everyone in town knows when Pop’s closes, so usually it’s not much of a problem, but every once in awhile, she gets someone passing through Riverdale, desperate for food and drawn in by the bright pink light.

Apparently, tonight is one of those nights.

Sighing to herself, Veronica wipes her damp hands off on her apron and makes her way out of the kitchen, hoping that she’s not about to be greeted by another serial killer. But when she enters the main restaurant and sees who her late night visitor is, Veronica finds herself longing for a mass murderer. Because honestly, she’d rather be dead than have to talk to Bret Weston Wallis again.

“Veronica Lodge,” he greets her with a lecherous grin, holding his arms out as if expecting a hug from the other side of the counter. “That is your real name, is it not?”

“We’re closed,” she replies flatly, deciding right then and there that she can’t be bothered to play into this douchebag’s game tonight—it’s been a long day, and she has no desire to make it a long _night_ too.

She knows how boys like him operate, she ran into—and even _with_ —more than her fair share in New York, and this rich trust fund brat has nothing on the likes of Nick St. Clair. Veronica can handle him just fine, and she doesn’t need to prove that to him by engaging in a tiresome battle of wits.

“That’s not what the sign says,” Bret argues, smoothing out the jacket he’s wearing over his Stonewall uniform as he takes a few steps into the diner. “Besides, I’m not here for your little townie food. I’m here to speak with you.”

The raven haired girl closes her eyes briefly and wills God to give her the strength not to set this boy on fire like the last guy that came into Pop’s after hours.

“And what could I have possibly done to deserve such a thing?” Veronica quips sarcastically, tossing the towel she’d been idly using to the side and placing her hands on her hips. 

Bret’s creepy, plastic smile just widens at her obvious disdain. “Well, Forsythe interrupted us at the party, after all. I thought we could start where we left off.”

“You’re going to confess to attacking Munroe?” she wonders, raising an eyebrow.

“Is that where we left off?” Bret pretends to ponder. “I’ve honestly forgotten everything after I ordered you to go back to my room and undress.”

Veronica scoffs, feeling that familiar disgust that men like Bret so often give her. 

Cutting the banter short, she crosses her arms defensively. “What are you really doing here, Bret? Because if you’ve just come to annoy me, I’ll just have to call up one of my many, _many_ gang affiliated friends to come and escort you out. Or maybe my boxer, ex-con boyfriend.”

“You Riverdale kids and your dramatics,” the light haired boy laughs, finally making his way to the counter and sitting down in one of the stools without breaking eye contact with Veronica. He carefully places his bag on the seat beside him. “And speaking of the world’s most boring couple, they’re actually what I’m here to discuss.”

As if it would be anything else, Veronica thinks, but she gets enough mind games and petty teenage bullshit from her father, the last thing she needs is to get involved in someone else’s battle. “Whatever strange Joe Goldberg type obsession you have with Jughead and/or Betty, I have no interest in being your collateral damage.”

Bret laughs again, mindlessly picking up a menu he’s surely not reading. “If it makes you feel any better, I think of you less as collateral damage and more of an opportunity I just can’t pass up.”

“And what does that mean?” the business owner questions wearily, not liking the extra sleazily way he said that.

“It means I’m here to blackmail you,” he informs her casually, eyes scanning the laminated page in his hands.

Veronica instinctively cramps up for a moment—all the illegal, blackmail worthy things she does on the daily flashing through her mind in an instant—until she gives it a second of thought and remembers this is only the second time in her life she’s ever talked to this clown. 

“With _what?_ ” she demands incredulously. “You have nothing on me.”

“Not _you,_ ” he sighs, dragging his eyes up to look at her as he rolls them in exasperation. “Can you please keep up? I’m here about your annoying little friends, remember? The blonde with the tight ponytail, more specifically.”

This time, Veronica stiffens for real, a sick feeling swirling in her belly. “You have something on Betty?”

Bret’s smirk grows so much it takes up half his face. “I’m so glad you asked! Her and that boyfriend of hers have a penchant for fornicating in my room, it’s incredibly bothersome. Especially when I just happen to leave my laptop open, and accidentally film them. Imagine how disgruntled I was to discover what I’d recorded.”

“You made a sextape of them?” Veronica hisses, completely appalled. “You pig!”

The boy holds a hand over his heart and pouts. “Name calling hurts my feelings.”

“You have feelings?” she snorts.

“Occasionally,” he allows, sounding completely serious. “But evidently not as many as you.” His eyes light up as he gets to the crux of his little plan. “Thanks to Forsythe’s inability to create any kind of compelling story that isn’t ripped directly from his own life in this Hellmouth town, I happen to know _just_ how much you’re willing to risk for your bestie.”

Flashes of fancy dresses, crazy redheads and chalices filled with poison cross Veronica’s mind and she knows exactly where this is going; she would do anything for Betty, and that’s extremely powerful knowledge in the wrong hands.

It’s almost unbelievable that this idiot boy has already solved it, but her father, for all his bluster and bullshit, hasn’t yet figured out that _Archie_ isn’t her biggest weakness, it’s Betty.

And Veronica would _never_ allow Betty to be violated or publicly humiliated, especially not when it could possibly ruin her chances of getting into Yale.

Knowing Bret has her, without even having to say it, Veronica just cuts to the chase. “What do you want?” she asks through a clenched jaw. “Because surely you already have all the money you could possibly spend in a lifetime.”

Bret looks pleased as he contemplates her words. “I do, actually, yeah,” he laughs. “So no, money isn’t what I’m after.”

Something about his smarmy, self satisfied smile tells Veronica all she needs to know, but even though she already has the answer, she still asks the question: “Then what is?”

“You,” he grins evilly, placing the menu back on the counter and leveling her with a predatory stare she’s more than used to. The only difference is that this time, it’s going to work.

\---

Veronica cringes from behind the velvet curtain as Bret’s predictable choice of music starts flowing from the speakeasy’s sound system, but tries to brush her annoyance off before she steps out on stage.

When she agreed to give herself over to the privileged dickhead for a night in exchange for the copy of Betty’s sextape, she didn’t realize that he meant _that_ evening. But it seems Bret really did come by with Veronica in mind, because now here they are in the basement of Pop’s, about to start a strip show.

Taking one last deep breath, Veronica puts her game face on and throws the curtains apart, strutting onto the stage she’s performed on many times before, even if it’s never been quite like this.

The purple lights she chose are immediately blinding, but Veronica certainly isn’t going to complain, not when they effectively block Bret and his stupid, smarmy face from her view. 

It’ll be easier this way, not having to see who she’s dancing for. She can pretend it’s Archie sitting out in the crowd, watching her with eyes filled with love and lust and awe. But as Veronica starts to sway her hips to the moody, mellow bass of the song, it’s blonde hair and blue-green eyes she imagines in the crowd instead.

And that works, too.

She dances slow and sexy, her eyes slipping closed as she really centers herself and lets the music and the lights and the thrill of being watched wash over her. 

Veronica’s hands find her body, touching herself teasingly. It’s hard to be sexy in her Pop’s uniform, but that’s what Bret wanted to see her dance in for whatever fucked up reason, so she tries her best to make it work. 

She struts along the stage like she owns it (which she _does_ ), working her hips and shaking her ass like three years in the River Vixens have taught her to do—bending, twisting and rolling her body in all the right ways. 

The eyes on her are hungry—both the ones Veronica’s still imagining and the ones she knows are watching—and it just spurs her on, making her hungry too.

When she tugs at the lapel of her uniform and the button pops open, it feels weirdly thrilling, considering the fact that she was blackmailed into this. But she’s gotten into the performance now, and she’s feeling sexy and a little wet between the legs, so she goes with it. 

As the first song comes to a close, she peels the yellow polyester off her shoulders—one side and then, slowly, making a show of it, the other—until she’s got her black bra that’s too sexy to be working in exposed, and the top of her uniform is hanging around her waist. 

Veronica thinks this is the part where she’d reach for the pole, if there was one. Since there’s not, she settles for making her way down the steps of the stage and towards the table Bret’s sitting at.

It kills the fantasy she had been working with, but that’s okay, Veronica’s worked up enough that even Bret and his dumb face is kind of doing it for her.

She gets a clearer vision of him the closer she gets to the table, and when he comes into full view, his eyes are wide and his pupils are dilated—one hand curled on his thigh while the other holds his glass of rum a little too tightly. 

It makes Veronica feel like she’s the one in control for just a few moments; no matter the bravado, boys are always just boys, helpless in the face of a sexy woman and a nice set of tits.

She straddles his lap and cards her fingers through the back of his hair, pushing out her chest so that her boobs are as close to his face as possible without smothering him—which she is so, _so_ tempted to do. 

“Was this what you had in mind, big boy?” she purrs, not needing to speak too loudly when they’re this close.

Bret’s large hands find her waist and keep her steady as he tries to mask his obvious arousal—on his face anyways, the hard on he’s sporting in his dark grey slacks, that’s currently pressing against her core, is pretty undeniable.

“It’s a start,” he says back, trying to sound bored, but his voice is husky and choked and reveals all he’s trying to hide. “Lose the bra and then we’ll talk.”

Although it sounds like a bargain, Veronica hears it as a command, and she shivers as his words shoot straight to her cunt. So without breaking eye contact with him, she reaches behind her back with her free hand and undoes the clasp, letting the lacy material fall down her shoulders with a smile.

“Better?” she croaks out, her own eyes darkening as they take in Bret’s face, bathed in the purple light of the speakeasy. 

Fuck her, she may have been blackmailed into this and she may hate his guts, but she’s gonna look _so_ good spread out on that stage.

“Much,” the preppy boy admits with a smirk, moving his hands from her waist up to her back, so he can pull her against him and bury his face between her breasts. 

\---

Thirty minutes later finds Veronica still on Bret’s lap, only now, she has her back to his front and his cock inside her. 

The music still flowing from the state of the art sound system is muffling most of her whining and squealing, but what can’t be heard can be seen, as she writhes and wiggles against—and _around_ —him. 

“ _Please_ ,” Veronica begs with a moans, dropping her head against his broad shoulder as his fingers rub tight circles against her throbbing clit. “Please can I come _now_?”

He’s been torturing her for an agonizing twenty minutes now, touching and teasing her clit and all around it, driving her right to the edge and then pulling her back before she can fall over it. He obviously delights in her petulant whimpering when she doesn’t come, and Veronica’s sure the way her walls clench around his shaft every time she gets close doesn’t hurt either.

“No yet,” Bret whispers against her strained neck, licking the expanse of it before wrapping the fingers of his free hand around it. 

Veronica’s uniform skirt is bunched up to her waist but still on at Bret’s insistence, and her thighs are hooked over his, spreading her wide open for the hidden camera she knows is installed at the end of the stage. 

By the time the night’s done, Betty and Jughead (and Cheryl and Toni, unbeknownst to them) won’t be the only ones with a sextape. 

“W-hen?” the raven haired girl cries, hips bucking against Bret’s hand, chasing an orgasm she knows he won’t let her catch. 

Bret laughs wickedly at the question, hot breath against her wet neck sending a jolt down Veronica’s spine that he’s sure to feel around his dick. “You’re mine for the night, princess,” he reminds her, squeezing and rubbing harder at the same time, pushing and pushing Veronica further and further until—

“ _Nooo_ ,” she whines the second the pressure releases, immediately loosening that coil in her gut that had been slowly tightening, and her cunt too.

Veronica slumps back against Bret in defeat, uncurling her fists and feeling the sting of the marks her nails left in her palm. 

Bret’s hands ghost over her sweaty body, already aching after just a half hour and without even coming—she already knows this is gonna be an even longer night than she’d feared. 

“Before we get you back on that stage,” he muses, fingers circling dusky nipples and pinching just hard enough to make her walls squeeze around his cock in response. “I’m interested in seeing how sturdy your tables are.”

\---

Brett grunts as he thrusts into Veronica, biting down on his lower lip as he forces more of his cock deeper into the girl with each stroke.

He’s got the prissy bitch laid out in the middle of her little speakeasy, perfect little pearls between her perfect teeth as her sweat slicked body slides up and down on the hard surface.

Veronica’s tits fill his hands perfectly and her cheap little polyester skirt is still more like a belt around her midsection, but Bret doesn’t let her take it off, instead letting the apron hang loose and cover their connecting parts.

There’s just something he’s always enjoyed about fucking simple townie girls (he hasn’t been trying to get into Betty Cooper’s pants for no reason) and even though he knows Veronica Lodge is anything but, her trashy little waitress uniform helps him pretend she is.

Her pussy is tight around his cock, hungrier for it with every thrust he drives into her, and even though the table beneath her squeaks from the force of their fucking, it hasn’t actually rocked much at all. 

“ _Now?_ ” Veronica begs around the necklace in her mouth, nearing the cliff yet again. 

Bret still hasn’t let her come, and that’s not changing anytime soon.

“Not yet,” he smugly denies her again, the power he yields over her making his balls tingle. “Not you, anyways,” he amends, because with a few more sharp thrusts into Veronica’s desperate cunt, Bret starts spurting with little warning.

He doesn’t pull out in time to shoot his whole load onto Veronica’s stomach, but most of it lands heavy and thick on her tan skin—marking her as his, if only for the night.

\---

Veronica’s mouth gets Bret hard again in no time at all, her pussy aching and empty as she kneels on the floor of the establishment she owns and sucks him back to full length.

Her wrists are bound behind her back with the red necktie of Bret’s Stonewall uniform, and while it makes for a sloppy blowjob, the boy doesn’t mind the mess being left on the pants he still has on—his maid has had to clean worse stains out of his clothes before.

After making Veronica choke on his fat shaft one more time for good measure, Bret pushes himself off the chair he’s been recuperating in and swiftly picks Veronica up to carry her over to the stage she started the night on, leaving his unfinished rum and his full bag behind at the table.

He drops her right in the middle of the spotlight, laying her on her back again and immediately covering her tiny body with his larger one. Her tied wrists make the position uncomfortable for her, but Bret doesn’t care—he likes the way it makes her arch her back anyways, it makes her tits look bigger.

With his fist around his spit slicked cock, Bret gives it a few tugs before he guides it back into Veronica, smirk growing as he watches the purple tinted pleasure splash across her face. 

He skips right past slow to get to fast, driving his hips down and breaking her cunt open at a steady, hard pace that will have her right where he wants her in no time at all. 

Nothing, besides maybe money, makes Bret feel more powerful than controlling—not _giving_ —someone else’s pleasure and pain. 

“ _Please_ ,” she whines breathlessly, yet again, not even having to voice what she’s asking for anymore.

Bret has Veronica Lodge, New York socialite and owner of multiple businesses, laid out beneath him, so desperate and wound up so tight, that she’s literally _begging_ him to come, and he has the power to say no.

And he does.

“Not yet,” he says for the sixth time tonight, slowing his pace down when he thinks she might be getting too close.

Bret pushes his weight off of her and props himself up, switching from hard, sharp thrusts to slow, longer ones, digging his cock in deeper each time he barrels down—it draws out the sexiest little moans.

The white shirt of his uniform is untucked and has a few buttons undone, his navy blue blazer hanging over the chair he was previously occupying, but he’s still far more dressed than Veronica is, and that makes him feel powerful too.

She’s vulnerable and at his mercy—and not just because he’s blackmailed her into this—and as Bret pulls out of her so he can roll her over onto her side and spoon her from behind, he thinks maybe it’s time he shows her just how powerful he is.

He lifts Veronica’s thigh and easily slips back into her needy pussy, her slick walls hugging his thick shaft in the most amazing way, and then starts canting into her.

One of his arms curls around her chest, his hand groping at her tits and rolling one of her nipples between his fingers, while the other palms her mound, the heel of his hand applying just the right amount of pressure against her still throbbing clit.

Bret rocks his hips against the swell of Veronica’s ass over and over again, trying to ignore the way her clenched hands are digging into his stomach as they move together. She feels tighter from this angle somehow, especially with the way her pussy responds to the attention to her clit.

“ _Now?_ ” she asks desperately, obviously sensing that this time is different.

And Bret buries his face in the crook of her neck and nods, mumbling his permission against salty skin. “Now you can come.”

Veronica lets go almost immediately, her entire body trembling against his as the orgasm that’s been built up and denied all night long finally comes to fruition and rocks her world.

Her cunt clamps down so hard on Bret’s dick that he can’t fuck her through it like he wants to, but soon enough she’s shaking so hard that she slips right off his cock, just as she starts squirting her arousal all over the stage floor.

Bret watches in amusement as Veronica tries to regain control of her facilities, her cheek pressed against the floor as she squirms around until the aftershocks finally settle and goes completely weightless—her head probably so scrambled that Betty Cooper isn’t even a distant thought. 

He’ll only give her another moment to recover before he starts again, figuring she’ll need it for the tricks he has up his sleeves and the toys stuffed in his bag.

**Author's Note:**

> Would very much appreciate it if you hit that kudos button or left a comment if you liked it. Thanks for reading!


End file.
